


and you're ready to call.

by redhoods



Series: fictober 2019. [7]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gift Giving, M/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), and ridiculous, and sylvain being sylvain, i don't even know how to tag this it's just indulgent soft, that's all it is, this is truly just so fucking soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-12 19:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Sylvain pauses as he’s starting towards the palace, likely to change and perhaps clean up after a long ride, “I would suggest scrubbing up, Your Kingliness,” he adds with a sweeping bow and a wink, then carries on.Dimitri blinks after him, mind spinning. There’s something implied there, but he’s not sure what.“Shall we start preparations for a foreign envoy?” Gustave asks, sounding faintly amused but also greatly confused, looking in the direction Sylvain’s gone.





	and you're ready to call.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fictober day 894534895 is sigil. and this is... idk. it's a thing.
> 
> i'm just gonna say this on everything at this point because it needs to be known but like... claude is trans.
> 
> title is from ready to call this love by mika. [listen to it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTPBU7gGX9c).

“Sylvain! Ride out to meet them!”

It’s risky, only sending Sylvain alone and Dimitri can practically feel Felix bristling at his side, but no one can deny that Sylvain’s their fastest rider. As it is, Dimitri watches in confusion as a stablehand comes over, already leading Sylvain’s horse over and glances from Felix to Sylvain to the stablehand who ‘eep!’s when they see him and almost trip over their own feet trying to bow.

Dimitri shifts and waves a hand, “Thank you for the assistance,” and watches them trip again as they try to scramble back to the stables after leaving the reins in Sylvain’s hands.

“Promise you’ll wait for me,” Sylvain tells Felix as he swings up onto his horse, fluttering his eyelashes as he tucks a lance across his lap. The Kingdom crest is emblazoned on his breastplate and reflects in the sunlight.

Felix scoffs out a, “Tch,” and Sylvain is laughing as he nudges the horse forward, turning back over his shoulder to blow them all a kiss before he sets the horse to a gallop.

“So are you two—” Dimitri starts and dodges just in time to miss the elbow Felix throws at his ribs.

Sylvain disappears through the gates and it’s several long seconds before he reappears on the other side, making a direct path towards the convoy that’s waiting in the fields outside of the city walls. 

It’s hard to see anything from where they are, aside from raised banners baring a sigil Dimitri doesn’t recognize, that no one presently accounted for seems to recognize. He doesn’t think it’s anything dangerous or bad, there doesn’t seem to be enough of a presence, but there’s every chance that an army is lurking close by.

He can’t imagine anyone would be so dumb as to attack the Kingdom capital directly, not when they’ve had years to rebuild. There were plenty of other more strategic locations, less defensible locations that an invading army could take first.

This is something different.

Sylvain eventually becomes a barely visible dot on the road and all they can do is wait.

\-----

Twenty minutes turns into thirty turns into an hour.

Felix sends him off to see to his other obligations, though he himself does not leave the parapet where he’s wedged himself, eyes still on the convoy. “I’ll send someone to find you when he returns,” Felix tells him, quiet as he stares out.

\-----

It’s nearing three hours and Dimitri’s accomplished essentially nothing when Dedue sticks his head into the study, “Dimitri,” he says, a hard won progress, “Sylvain is returning.”

“Thank the goddess,” Dimitri breathes out, abandoning the report he’s read five times and still hasn’t absorbed anything from as he stands. “Lets go,” he adds, unnecessarily because Dedue is already turning and Dimitri follows behind him.

They don’t venture up though, instead down to the palace grounds and the gates, and when they arrive, the gates are lifted.

Felix is standing in the center of the space and everyone is noticeably giving him a wide berth.

Even Gustave, who usually seems to have no problem dealing with Felix being a downright asshole is several yards away and seems almost relieved as he approaches Dimitri. “Your Majesty,” he inclines his head, which is leagues better than bowing, “Sylvain’s close now,” he adds then tips his head towards Felix, “He nearly took out a messenger who was coming in.”

Next to him, Dedue makes a strange sound, somewhere between a laugh and a cough. 

It’s become a strange thing, Felix and Dedue and their weird friendship of sorts that makes Dimitri’s head hurt, because Felix is still scathing and rude and Dedue is still an impassively calm mountain, but he’s seen them quietly conversing multiple times or carrying on easy conversation while laying into each other on the training grounds.

“Nearly?” Dimitri asks, shaking his head as he looks away from Dedue.

“I carried him away,” Dedue says then, calm like it’s an everyday occurence for the vassal of the King to...

Dimitri’s trying to picture it, “You—”

“—yes,” Dedue cuts him off, “he is very light, easy to move.”

“I can hear you!” Felix snaps and he’s taken to restlessly pacing under the portcullis now.

Dimitri knuckles against his mouth to stop from laughing, “Was it over the shoulder or bridal style?”

Felix snarls loudly and a page that had been approaching startles and immediately flees in the other direction. Probably for the better, really. There’s a set to Felix’s shoulders and his fingers keep twitching like he wants to draw his sword.

Thankfully, the sound of hooves starts to carry and Felix stops suddenly, looking out to the road.

It’s still several minutes before Sylvain comes riding through into the corral, practically sliding off the horse before it’s even stopped and he’s... grinning, wide and happy, cheeks red as he lands on his feet. A stableboy several feet away keeps looking from the horse to Felix, like he’s debating the merits of fetching the horse and risking getting too close to Felix.

Sylvain seems to notice none of this as he leaves the horse to approach Dimitri, “Oh man,” he says, sweeping his hair back from his face, “They’re sending a procession and you could threaten me with death right now but all I’m telling you is that you’re gonna love this.”

Dimitri opens his mouth and Dedue makes a disgruntled sound and he can tell Gustave is gearing up for some reproach or another but Sylvain lifts a hand.

“There’s no danger, swear on it,” he says and even crosses his fingers over his heart, “It’ll be worth it just to... see for yourself.” Then he turns on his heel, whistling as he approaches his horse, patting its neck as he takes the rein and leads it to the stableboy, still not seeming to pay any mind to the quiet, fuming stormcloud that is Felix, still standing near the portcullis.

Sylvain pauses as he’s starting towards the palace, likely to change and perhaps clean up after a long ride, “I would suggest scrubbing up, Your Kingliness,” he adds with a sweeping bow and a wink, then carries on.

Dimitri blinks after him, mind spinning. There’s something implied there, but he’s not sure what.

“Shall we start preparations for a foreign envoy?” Gustave asks, sounding faintly amused but also greatly confused, looking in the direction Sylvain’s gone.

“I suppose so?” Dimitri rubs a hand down his face and sighs, “I trust him, I really do, he’s one of my best friends, but I want to—” and mimes throwing someone.

Felix goes stomping by them, “Get in line,” he grouses and keeps going.

Dimitri’s proud of himself for holding out on laughing until Felix has disappeared into the palace.

At least until Gustave claps him on the shoulder and says, “Let us get ready to welcome the envoy.”

\-----

“This is too much,” Dimitri says for what feels like maybe the fifth time as he stands in the courtyard, looking towards the still open portcullis with a strange curling sense of dread.

Dedue is just to his left and behind him, “You’ve been more dressed up than this for events,” he’s too reasonable for this. It’s usually grounding but right now Dimitri wants to retreat to his study and try to read the reports from Enbarr again.

He shifts on his feet and reaches up to adjust his crown but a hand smacks him and when he looks, Felix is next to him where he hadn’t been just ten seconds ago. “Flames, Felix,” he presses his hand instead to his chest, “I really am going to put a bell on you,” he warns.

Its become a game to Felix, sneaking up on him on his blindside, trying to help him become more aware of his surroundings. Supposedly. Mostly, he just thinks this is Felix’s way of gaining revenge without outright trying to commit regicide. Felix only bares his teeth at him and Dimitri realizes even Felix has changed into nicer clothes.

Sylvain still hasn’t emerged and Dimitri wonders if they should be looking for his dead body somewhere around the palace, but one of the scouts comes riding in, stopping a few yards away, “The envoy just entered the city gates.”

“Good,” Felix snaps before Dimitri can even open his mouth, “Maintain your perimeter.”

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Felix actually has power around here, that he commands the scouts, the military. He’s so quiet about it, but they’ve yet to have any issues with skirmishes or rebellions in the last year and a half. The scout only nods and turns the horse, setting back out without another word.

Then they wait.

Sylvain emerges when the envoy is almost to the palace, hair a wild mess but damp now, in some of his refinery. There’s a dark bruise at the hinge of his jaw that Dimitri’s going to pretend he doesn’t see.

For now anyways.

The sounds of a procession get loud and the frontmen of the envoy ride into the gates, hoisting up banners, gold and green with a sigil that looks familiar to Dimitri, but he can’t place why.

At least, until the rest of the procession follows.

He can practically feel Sylvain vibrating at his back and resists the urge to stomp on his foot, because at the center of this procession is Claude.

Oh.

_Oh._

Your Kingliness.

He’s going to murder Sylvain.

Later.

When he’s not watching Claude dismount, not trying to catalogue what three years have done, not losing whatever remains of his sanity at the crown on Claude’s head. Or the fact that he seems, well, broad. Broader?

Also his smile is so big, eyes bright in the lowering sunlight, mischievous even now.

Someone elbows him in the ribs and Felix hisses, “You’re drooling.”

Dimitri snaps his jaw closed as he takes a step forward to meet Claude, offering his hand, “Claude, did you take over a country in three years?” He asks in disbelief, which isn’t the greeting he’d meant to offer and he can hear Felix scoff behind him.

“Something like that, Your Kingliness,” Claude replies with a wink that makes Dimitri’s face feel hot, and he takes the offered hand and _yanks_. 

Unprepared, Dimitri stumbles right into him, finds himself in an unexpected hug.

Claude’s face is level with his breastbone and he doesn’t remember there being this much of a gap between their heights and Dimitri only hesitates before looping arms around him. “Does this mean I have to call you ‘Your Kingliness’ as well?”

It startles a laugh out of Claude that he can feel where their chests are touching and he’s only distantly aware of other people around them and a flash of pink hair that he thinks means Hilda is there and maybe also Marianne, but really all he can focus on is Claude.

“Your Majesty also works,” Claude says as he edges back, though his palms stay on Dimitri’s upper arms, keeping them close, “You look good, Mitya,” he adds, very quiet.

Dimitri swallows thickly, ducking his chin, “So do you.”

Claude’s smile is bright and he squeezes his arms, then withdraws, regretfully backing up a step, “What say we move this party inside?”

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, Dimitri nods, “Absolutely, we have dinner waiting for all of us, if you’d be so kind,” he offers his arm to Claude, who doesn’t hesitate before looping their arms together. When he turns to take the lead into the palace, Felix is squinting at him.

There’s gonna be a lot of questions to answer later and he finds he doesn’t care.

\-----

Later, after dinner and wine that Claude had brought, after trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Claude is King of Almyra, after agreeing to start trade negotiations in the coming days, Dimitri finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed as he sheds his outer layers, startling only just so when someone knocks on the door, “A moment!”

He stands and pushes his boots to the side, drapes his coat and tunic over a chair, leaving himself in his undershirt and trousers as he approaches the door and pulls it open.

Claude is there, also stripped down from all his ornamental wear, his curls flattened around his head in the shape of his crown. He’s got a bottle in one hand and a tray in the other, an easy smile on his face, “I didn’t think I’d be able to find you in the library tonight.”

Laughing, Dimitri steps back, pulling the door wide, “I’ve finally grown out of too long nights up in the library, I’m afraid,” he says, “That and I’ve been threatened against trying to pull all nighters unless things are desperate.”

They haven’t been desperate in a year and Dimitri finally feels like he’s catching up on his sleep debt.

He watches Claude enter the room, curious gaze sweeping over everything before he approaches the low table and few chairs in front of the fire place that’s lowly blazing, filling the space with warmth, “I knew it was cold this way,” Claude says, “I wasn’t prepared for just how cold.”

“We haven’t even reached winter yet,” Dimitri points out, joining him in one of the chairs, “The snow makes travel difficult.”

“As beautiful as the concept sounds, I think I’ll have to pass on the snow,” Claude says as he’s tipping two glasses up off the tray. He waves the bottle around and Dimitri nods his agreement, watching Claude cork the bottle and poor a little of the amber liquid into each glass.

Dimitri accepts the glass with a smile, “Yes, I see now why you prefer such warmer climates,” and he’ll blame the wine for how he draws his eyes over Claude, the breadth of him, the low dip of his shirt, baring tanned skin and chest hair and there around his neck, a gold chain.

“Oh,” he breathes out quietly, when he follows the chain.

Claude is watching him, face a little ruddy, “I don’t take it off,” he says equally quiet.

“Oh,” Dimitri says again, because he’s an idiot.

“I told you, when I’d accomplished my dreams, I’d be back at your side,” Claude’s putting his glass down and takes Dimitri’s from his hand, putting it on the table as well. Then he reaches into his pocket and produces a small velvet bag, “I brought you a gift.”

Dimitri swallows as Claude steps closer, between his knees, reaching his hand out to cup Claude’s waist, “You did?”

Claude’s smile grows, brightens and he offers the bag, “Custom made and everything.”

His hands are shaking and he has to let go of Claude to take the bag, to undo the strings and tip the contents out into his palm. It’s a ring, gold and gently gleaming and when he tilts it up, he notices something. 

Engraved on the band is a sigil, different from the Almyran banners, but he recognizes this one, “This is—” he starts quietly, swallows against the many emotions he’s feeling, “This is our Crests.”

“I know neither of us put much stock in Crests,” Claude says and when Dimitri glances up, he’s undoing the clasp of the necklace, fingers delicate on the small piece of metal, “But it felt appropriate,” he adds. The chain comes loose and he slides the ring on it into his own palm, “Considering all those Crest books we poured over together in the library.”

Dimitri laughs and the sound is a little wet as he reaches out, covering the ring in Claude’s palm before plucking it away, “May I?”

Claude tips his hand over, palms down, and Dimitri realizes his hands are shaking too as he slides the ring carefully into place on his finger, then takes Claude’s fingers, bringing them to his mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“My turn,” Claude says quietly and Dimitri offers his palm, the ring still gleaming in the firelight. 

It fits perfectly on his finger and Claude returns the gesture, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“Perfect fit,” Claude says, lowering his hand, but stepping away without releasing it, pulling Dimitri up out of the chair.

Dimitri tilts his head, “How did you?”

Claude grins at him, “A birdy.”

“Sylvain.”

“Sylvain,” Claude agrees, grin wide, as he drapes an arm around Dimitri’s neck, drawing him in, “Remember the ball?” He asks as he laces their fingers together, holding them aloft next to him, “I wanted to ask you to dance so badly.”

Dimitri swallows, wrapping an arm around Claude’s back, “I would have said yes.”

Claude tugs him and he moves, shuffling them away from the chairs until they’re in the open space of his chambers, until there’s room for him to start leading them in slightly sloppy circles without any music to keep time, “You just did, Mitya.”

“I will as many times as you want me to,” he replies, pressing his cheek to Claude’s temple, “for the rest of our lives.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [@vowofenmity](https://twitter.com/vowofenmity) on twitter.


End file.
